


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

CM]). Copyright No.-- 

ShelfiO.SSJF 7* 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 






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D TAN. 


REVISED! 
Edition. ; 






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BOWMA N 


















































FRECKLES AND TAN. 


Say, what are these wee little freckles, 
And what in the world is the tan, 

That color and sprinkle all over 
The face of our dear little man? 

The tan is a heavenly mixture 
Of happiness, sunshine and joy, 

That darkens the shade of the roses, 
That bloom in the cheek of our boy. 

The freckles are scars from the kisses 
That angels in loving embrace 

Have pressed, in a careless confusion, 
All over our little boy’s face. 

So here’s to the boy with the freckles: 
The boy with the freckles and tan; 

These glorious imprints of heaven 
Have labeled him, God’s little man. 



v V. 

■ ., . . 






















FRECKLES AND TAN 

ILLUSTRATED VERSE 








CAREFULLY REVISED 

WITH THE ADDITION OF 

SEVERAL NEW POEMS 



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tywo COPIES RECEIVES^. 

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56698 


COPYRIGHT 1900 
BY 

Roland C. Bowman. 


SECOND COPY, 

4 

*V°3 V ^ 

■ I t, 

A ^ O Q. 









Co JVIy JVIotber. 





















The Peppermint-Candy Heart. 




Dorothy baby love knew a boy— 
A little boy over the way— 

Cute little fellow, with curly head, 
Who smiled on Dorothy May. 



Dorothy Baby Love. 


And Dorothy baby love smiled on him, 
It was really the thing to do; 

I guess you'd, smile on a little boy, 

If a little boy smiled on you. 

And so, bye and bye, my baby love, 
Whenever she went to play, 

Would look all around, until she found 
This little boy over the way. 


7 




The Peppermint-Candy Heart. 


& Freckles 



She'd look all around until she found the little boy over the way. 














































































































and Tan.«& 


The Peppermint-Candy Heart. 


And, of course, in time he won her heart; 

This little boy over the way; 

He won the heart of my baby love, 

My sweet little Dorothy May. 



Of course, in time, he won her heart. 


He won a peppermint-candy heart, 
With a motto in pink and blue; 

A motto in pink and blue that read, 
“My Sweetheart—I—Love—You.” 


9 































The Peppermint-Candy Heart. 


Freckles 



He ate tip the candy heart. 


10 













and Tan.^t 


The Peppermint-Candy Heart. 



The Little Boy 

over the vjay. 


A colored peppermint-candy heart, 

That horrid boy over the way 
Stole with a crafty, deceitful art 
From poor little Dorothy May. 

But that isn’t all. My goodness, no! 

I’ll tell you the “dreadfulest” part: 
This bad, bad boy hid up in the hay 
And swallowed the peppermint heart. 


Yes, ate up the heart that Dorothy May 
Gave to that little scamp over the way! 
Poor little baby love, Dorothy May! 

Fie, fie on the villain across the way! 


ii 



An Ode to the Hair Brush. 


Freckles 


An Ode 
to the 



Hair 

Brush. 


As you lie there on the bureau, 

With your bleached and bristled hair, 
In that melancholy manner, 

With your cold and haughty air. 
Brush, I find I’m wont to wonder, 
Speculate, and figure out 
Why such fiendish tools of torture 
Are allowed to lie about, 

Causing heartaches, yea, and sadness; 

Causing tears to freely flow. 

Why are you allowed to prosper, . 
Generating grief and woe? 

O, the pains and pangs you’ve caused me; 

O, the sadness you have wrought. 

Brush! your imprints on my person 
Hurt me at the very thought. 

Tell me, BRUSH, 0, dear good Brushie, 

Tell me just one little thing; 

Tell me, great and noble Hairbrush, 

Tell me, please, where is thy sting? 



iz 






and Tan.-®, 


An Ode to the Hair Brush. 


When the world is bright and happy, 
When my youthful soul is gay; 
When rny heart is glad and cheerful, 
When I choose to run away 
With the boys and go in swimming 
In the mill pond down the lot— 
You bob up, you fiendish hairbrush, 
With my parent waxing hot. 



When I choose to run away. 




















An Ode to the Hair Brush. 


Freckles 



u 





and Tan.^k 


An Ode to the Hair Brush, 


Then a woe swoops down upon me 
With a wild and fearful rush, 

And the pain of pains steals o’er me— 

Yea, I’m up against the brush. 

Deliver me! O, goodness from this 
fierce domestic storm; 

Save! O, save me from the HAIR BRUSH, 
And the parent waxing warm. 



1-5 



To the Stone Bruise. 


^ Freckles 


To the Stone Bruise. 

O, you turbulent sensation, 
Triple extract of emotion 
And reiterated torture, 
Shooting through my metatarsus; 
What a fierce, incessant thumping, 
What a harsh and raspy bumping 
Of a torment, never ceasing, 

Never ceasing, but increasing. 



Yea, increasing to a fearful 
Tantalizing, mocking fury. 
Potentate of irritation, 

King of Pain and Agitation, 

How in thunder can we cure thee? 
How does mortal man endure thee? 


10 























and Tan.^fc 


To the Stone Bruise. 


All the remedies invented 
Couldn’t even have prevented 
This detestable disaster! 

Why this sticky flaxseed plaster? 
Worthless, weak, insipid poultice, 
You’re unto this fiendish Stone Bruise 
As the snow drop, pale and placid. 

Is unto sulphuric acid. 

Leave me, fruitless flaxseed plaster; 
Leave me to my cruel master; 
Leave me to my penal woe. 

Ouch! O, Golly! 0! O!! 0!l! 



o - l r - c -//. 


1? 







Going Visiting With Ma. 


Freckles 


Going Visiting With Ma. 

Going visiting with Ma; 

What a cheerful recollection 
Lies imbedded in the thought.- 
What a vast amount of elevating 
Knowledge one is taught. 

O, the interesting learning 



What a sense of perfect joy 


One is able to detect, 

O, what weighty wads of wisdom 
Settle on the intellect. 

What a perfect understanding 
Doth inoculate the brain, 



28 



















and Tan.^fc 


Going Visiting With Ma. 



What an all absorbing interest takes possession of a boy . 


19 








































Going Visiting With Ma. 


^ Freckles 


When it’s learned that yarn will avers 
Ten full knots to every skein. 



What an undisturbed attention 
One endeavors to employ; 


What an all absorbing interest 
Takes possession of a boy, 


When he overhears that ruffles 
Should be quartered off and shirred, 


And to cut ’em on the bias 
And to gather in a third, 


And to mind and shrink the hairclot h 


What an overflovj- 
ingfountain of 


And to iron out the waist, 


And to frill and flounce and fluff it, perpetual delight. 
And to hem and stitch and baste. 

O, how soothing to his feelings, 

When his cerebrum is graced 
With this awe inspiring, rapid 
Evolution of his taste. 

What a sense of satisfaction 
Buds and blossoms from the news, 

That a certain Mrs. Hager 
Has a hat like Mrs. Hughes’; 

And that Mrs. Norval Benson 
Doesn’t speak to Mrs. Wright. 

What an overflowing fountain 
Of perpetual delight; 

What an opalescent atmosphere 
Of intellectual light 


20 




and Tan.<fc 


Going Visiting With Ma. 


Illuminates his being 
With an overwhelming might. 

What a sense of bliss and freedom, 
What a sense of perfect joy 
Comes and soothes the nervous system 
Of the young and restless boy, 

When he’s visiting with Ma. 



Mrs. Norval Benson does' 1 1 speak to Mrs. Wright. 




















Wash Your Feet. 


& Freckles 


Wash Your Feet. 


When daisies blossom in the lane 
Somewhere along in middle May, 

And birds sing out a glad refrain 
Of greeting to the coming day; 

When skies are hung in deepest blue, 

When breezes seem a heaven’s breath, 
And everything is glad and new, 

When life and love have conquered death, 
Our boy unto his Ma will say, 

“Can I leave off my boots today?” 

She says, “My little son, you may; 

But mind,” the mother will repeat, 

As lovingly she pats his head, 

“You’ll not forget to wash your feet 
Before you go to bed.” 


Then, 0, the wild, ecstatic bliss, 

The magnified, exquisite joy; 

The princely, priceless happiness 
Of this unerring, mindful boy (?) 

As in the road he’ll imitate 
A “local freight” or “fast express” \ 

With such a giddy, gliding gait 
Of dizzy, romping recklessness. 

Ah Woo-oo, Woo-Woo, Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong, 
Choo-Choo, Choo-Choo, Pling-Plong, Pling-Plong 
So runs the howling boy along. 



May I take off my boots 
today ? 





and Tan.-® 


Wash Your Feet. 


Then mother calls: “My angel sweet, 
Must surely mind what mother said— 
And not forget to wash his feet 
Before he goes to bed.” 

He madly rushes here and there, 

From barnyard to some quiet nook, 
From marsh to meadow; everywhere, 
From orchard to the shaded brook. 



The local freight . 


He sails along in fierce "delight* 

And runs and plays and tears about, 
Until the fast approaching night 
Will find our boy all tired out. 

A blissful tired out that feels 
Like angels tugging at his heels. 


33 







Wash Your Feet. 


^ Freckles 


He stumbles to his room and kneels 
And clasps his hands and bows his head 
And says his prayers and falls to sleep. 

Forgets, of course, to wash his feet 
Before he goes to bed. 

And, O, that sweet angelic sleep 
Of peace and calm content and rest! 

That sleep so silent and so deep— 

A boy asleep is truly blessed. 

And dreams? He dreams of purple skies, 

And Pixies waltzing to and fro 

With humming birds and butterflies; 

How silently they come and go. 

A voice that heralds dreadful woe 
Comes stealing in like winter’s sleet. 

’Tis mother’s voice from overhead: 

“Get out of there and wash your feet! 

Come, now; you’ll soil the bed.” 

* *- * * # * 

O, Morpheus ! We pray unbend: 

Release our drowsy, indiscreet 
And sleepy boy. He did intend, 

We know he did, to wash his feet 
Why hold him fast in torment so, 

Why make him stagger, reach and grope, 
Why make him stub and bump his toe ; 

Why hide the wash pan, towel and soap? 
0, great and mighty god of sleep, 

Take off your mystic, magic chain 




24 









and Tan.& 


Wash Your Feet. 


And leave him. Let him wash his feet. 

Why clog his clouded, sluggish brain; 
He just forgot. He’s not to blame. 

Call off your torment, grief and pain; 
Call off that dull, distressing dread ; 

There’s time enough to come again, 
When he gets back to bed. 



25 









Waiting for the Second Table. 


Freckles 


Waiting for the Second Table. 

Waiting for the second table! 

How we gaze up at the ceiling 
Like a lot of wooden dummies ; 

What a gone and absent feeling 
Comes and harbors in our “tummies,” 



How we wait and watch and worry, 
In a morbid speculation 
At the total lack of hurry 
In our visiting relation. 

Gracious, how debilitating 
To the juveniles in waiting, 

Waiting for the second table. 











and Tan.-^ 


Waiting for the Second Table. 


Waiting for the second table, 

When the atmosphere is murky 
With the molecules that migrate, 
From the cranberries and turkey. 



How we stand and watch and worry. 

How our nostrils spread and dilate, 

How the gastric nerve doth quiver, 

27 




























Waiting for the Second Table. 


^ Freckles 


How our hopes are overpowered, 
When our Grandpa eats the liver, 
And the wish-bone is devoured! 

Goodness me! How nauseating 
To the juveniles in waiting, 

Waiting for the second table! 



Waiting for the second table, 

Waiting for the baked potatoes, 
Waiting for the cabbage salad, 

Hubbard squash and stewed tomatoes! 
Pumpkin pie and apple fritter! 

Mercy! ain’t it simply awful, 


28 









and Tan.^& 


Waiting for the Second Table. 


Ain’t it gruesome, sad and bitter, 

When the “vittles” all have vanished, 
And we young ones, weak and weary, 
Sick at heart and fairly famished, 

Are invited to that dreary, 

Dreadful scene of devastation, 

To the commissary station, 

To that wrecked and rifled table, 

To that barren second table! 
















































Our Old Ma-Cat. 


Freckles 


Our Old Ma-Cat. 

Our old ma-cat has been with us 
For nearly seven years ; 

Her fur is short and frowsy, 

And there’s nicks in both her ears. 
But she’s one of the family, 

And she’ll stay here night and day, 
’Till death comes in and claims her, 
Then she’ll be laid away. 



Our old ma-cat has got a way 
Of jumping on the bed, 

When Bub and I are sleeping; 

And she takes and rubs her head 
Along our nose, down round our ear, 
Bump! up against our chin-, 

30 




















and Tan.*& 


Our Old Ma-Cat. 


And then she’ll sneeze, and purr and purr, 
And then she’ll sneeze ag’in. 

Our old ma-cat has got a way 
Of lying in your lap, 

Pretending like she’s just about 
To take a quiet nap. 

She’ll spread her paws and grip your clothes 
And pull like Sunday sin, 

And sometimes when she grips your clothes 
She also grips the skin. 

Our old ma-cat has got a way, 

> Of keeping out of sight; 

For days and days she can’t be found, 

But she comes back, all right; 

And brings along the “blamedest” bunch 
Of “weenty-teenty” brats: 

That by and by turn out to be 
A lot of little cats. 



31 


The ‘weenty-teenty brats . 












Freckles 


If. 

If I were a little boy again, 

I tell you what I’d do; 

I’d harness up my dog some day 
And ride around for you. 

I’d let your little sister drive, 



Pd harness up my dog some day . 

While I’d sit in behind; 

With you tucked in the middle, we 
Could hunt around and find 
The Land of Chocolate Caramels, on 
The Sea of Lemonade, 











and Tan.ifc 


if. 


And there we’d dig for custard with 
A little candy spade. 

If I were a little boy again, 

I’d build a ship for you; 

I’d build it out of sassafras 
And have a jolly crew, 

By making you the captain bold, 
With sister as your mate, 

The dog would be the cabin boy 
To keep our baggage straight. 

And I? I’d be the cook. (You see 
To sail without a cook, 



33 


Pd drive around for you. 















If. 


Freckles 


Is just about as foolish as 
To fish without a hook.) 

We’d launch the ship upon the sea 
And sail far, far away, 

Tofind the Isle of Butterscotch 
In Honeysuckle Bay. 

We’d land upon the island in 
Some quiet, shady spot, 

And build a summer cottage 
Near the brook of Soda Pop. 

We’d build a summer cottage out 
Of ginger snaps and “gums,” 

And live on cracker jack and cake 
And cocoanuts and plums. 

And there we’d dwell forevermore— 
Forever and a day— 

On our little candy island, back 
In Honeysuckle Bay. 


34 



and Tan.*& 


A Domestic Strike. 


A Domestic Strike. 



If ma e’er becomes a new woman, 
Just then ma and I will play quit 
Im willing to wear out my father’s 
Coz they are some sort of a fit. 


But, by the gee wolliker gim- 
miny whew, 

If I’m to WEAR OUT MY 
MOTHER’S TOO, 

I’ll kick up a howling hull-a- 
baloo; 

I won’t wear ma’s, 

I’ll be blamed if I do. 



35 






Asleep in Church. 


^Freckles 



Asleep in Church. 

O, that melancholy morning, 

Sunday morning back in June, 
When the song birds in the meadow 
Seem to warble out of tune, 

When our boy is bound and fettered 
In his “go to meetin’ clothes,” 
And the world is full of torment, 
Full of irritating woes; 

Off to church he slowly trudges, 
With his mother by his side; 
Tortured by a standing collar, 
Squeaky shoes and broken pride. 


Off to church he slorvly trudges. 


36 








and Tan.*& 


Asleep in Church. 


Seated in the pew he listens, 

Listens as he yawns and sighs, 

Finds a rubber in his pocket, 

So he starts to snapping flies. 

Plays the flies are “Spanish privates,” 
Plays the rubber is a gun; 

Plays that he’s a gallant hero, 

Killing “dagos” one by one. 



He starts to snappingJlies. 


37 










Asleep in Church. 


^ Freckles 


Plays until a drowsy quiet, 

Heavy feeling, dull and deep, 
Softly comes and slowly, slowly, 
Nods our little boy to sleep. 
Then a mixed and troubled vision 
Flits across his sleepy brain, 

As the voices of the choir 
Die away in sad refrain. 



“ JVho's to bat?' n the preacher cried. 

Then he dreams he’s on the bleachers 
Taking in a game of ball, 

Sees the preacher in the diamond 
Coaching; hear him, hear him call: 

“Go it, Fatty: Hump, you tiger; 

Dig in, Fa-a-a-t! You’ve got to sli-i-de.” 
“Thou art lost, ye mortal sinner, 

Who’s to bat?” the preacher cried. 


38 




and Tan.^i 


Asleep in Church. 



Here he comes ; it’s Shorty Hitchcock— 
Strike a-one. Oh, that’s too bad ! 

Foul-1-1 ball. Now take it easy, 

Bump her, Shorty: You’re the lad.” 

Shorty Hitchcock makes a single, 

Slides to second on a muff; 

Now, then, little Spot Maloney, 

Hands the ball a dinky cuff; 

Just enough to carry Shorty 
On to third. “A sacrifice,” 

Cries the preacher, “is a virtue, 
Selfishness a horrid vice. 

Give and you’ll receive a blessing, 

Take and—Shorty, that’s enough. 

Watch ’em, Shorty, keep ’em guessing! 
Look Out! Hold It! That’s the stuff.” 

Now the gentlemanly usher 
With a polka-dot cravat, 

Takes a little wicker basket, 

Velvet lined, and goes to bat. 

“Steady now,” the preacher whispers; 
“Easy; lift her ! That’s immense!” 

High the usher sends the “leather” 

Clear beyond the center fence; 

Then he starts to running bases, 

Selling peanuts on the way; 

Makes about a hundred tallies, 

Wins the game and saves the day. 



39 





Asleep in Church. 


Freckles 


Now the people in the grand stand 
Rise and sing in glad acclaim, 

Sing aloud to heaven’s glory, 

Sing with all their might and main. 

“ When I tread the verge of Jordan, 
Bid my anxious fears subside. 

Death of death and Hell's destruction, 
Land me safe on Canaan's side." 

Then our boy wakes up and stretches, 
Yawns and blinks and looks about; 

Listens to the benediction— 

Thanks to goodness church is out ! 



All the people in the grand sta?id sing aloud in glad acclaim. 


40 





and Tan.*& 


The Father of Waters, 


The Father of Waters. 

Pa-of-Waters: How I love you, 
With your lapping sides that dip 
’Round the bullrush and the lily. 
How I simply love to sit 
On your banks, O, Pa-of-Waters, 
While the sun is sitting down. 


v\ I I 



How I love to muse the moment, 
While away the weary while; 

Loll around and lie here dormant, 
While the sun is sitting down. 


41 













The Father of Waters. 


Freckles 



IIozv I simply love to sit. 


42 







and Tan.i& 


The Father of Waters. 


Pa-of-WATERS: Can’t you fix it 
So that I can always stay 
On your banks and watch the fading 
Of the day and draw my pay; 

Half asleep, just flipping pebbles, 

Sun forever sitting down? 



If you can’t I’ll muse the moment, 
While away the weary while; 

Loll around and lie here dormant, 
‘Till the sun is clear set down— 
Then I’ll go home. 


43 













How to Make a Loaf of Bread. 


Freckles 


How to Make a Loaf of Bread. 


Our ma has gone out in the country; 

We’re left all alone (what a pity), 
With nothing to do but to ponder 
And read out aloud to the kitty 
We run out of bread in the morning; 

But, knowing ’tis easy to make it, 
My father adjourns to the kitchen 
And silently starts in to bake it. 



THE RECIPE. 


Pa silently starts in 
to bake it. 



Read on till you 
smell something 
burning. 


Take two coffee cups full of flour, 

With water sufficient to “dough” it 
A thimble of salt for the “season,” 

Now roll it and poke it and blow it, 

And blow it and poke it and roll it, 

And pinch it and push it and flop it, 

And punch it and pound it and pull it, 

And monkey around ’till you drop it. 
Then clean it off' nice with a towel: 

And sock in a yeast cake to “raise” it; 
Now drop in some soda to “short” it, 

And smear on some butter to “glaze” it; 
Place it away back in the oven, 

(That is if you’ve moulded and “set” it.) 
Close up all the doors of the kitchen. 

Go in and sit down and forget it. 

Go sit yourself down in the parlor, 

And read from the “Science of Baking”— 
Read on till you smell something burning, 
Then think of the bread you are making. 


44 











and Tan.fi 


How to Make a Loaf of Bread. 


Now hop, skip and jump to the kitchen, 
And, as you hop nigher and nigher, 
You know by the smoke in the hall-way 
The blooming old bread is on fire. 
Now hustle it out in the alley, 

Juggle it, fumble it, shy it; 

Then gently dig up a nickel 
And go the baker’s and buy it. 



Now hop , skip and 
jump to the kitchen. 



Now hustle it out in the alley. 



45 













On Smoking. 


Freckles 


On Smoking. 

O, yes, I’ll agree that a good cigar 
Just after a meal is great; 

Or even a pipe will do me at times, 

And I wouldn’t hesitate 
To light up a stogie when pipes are shy; 

Or, if stogies are hard to get, 

Perhaps, for the sake of a smoke, I’d up 
And tackle a cigarette. 



46 









and Tan.d 


On Smoking. 


And yet, from the stogies to fine cigars, 
Clear back to the cheap cheroot, 

I can’t for the life of me find a smoke 
That honestly seems to suit. 



So turn the world back to my youth again, 
And show me a place to hide; 

Then give me a hunk of some good ratfan 
And there is where I’ll abide. 


47 










On Smoking. 


Freckles 


And dream of dreams that glorify 
The soul in peaceful rest, 

And fall to sleep with forty-two 
Burnt matches on my chest. 

-* * * * * * 



Let’s quaff the fumes so fragrant, 
Let’s puff, and taste, and smell 
The sweet, inspiring virtues 
Of a cotton umberel. 


48 






and Tan.Sk 


Boyhood’s Happy Hours. 


Boyhood’s Happy Hours. 

Down where the lily pads dip and slumber; 

Down where the weeping willows grow; 
Down by the brook my fancy wanders, 
Laden with thoughts of long ago. 

O, those happy boyhood hours, 
Fragrant flowers! 



Back to the woodshed, back to the shingle; 

Back to the seat of my Sunday wear; 

Back to that soul-stirring, soothing tingle, 
That loosened my teeth and curled my hair. 
0, those happy boyhood hours, 

Fragrant flowers. 


49 







Boyhood’s Happy Hours. 


Freckles 



Back to the meadow all sprinkled with daisies; 

Back to the shade of the apple tree; 

Back to the grove with its tangles and mazes, 
Sacred and dear to my memory. 

O, those happy boyhood hours, 

Fragrant flowers 1 








and Tan.^ 


Boyhood's Happy Hours. 



51 














An Essay on the June-Bug. 


^ Freckles 


An Essay on the June-Bug. 



A June-Bug is a restless, careless beast, 
That tends to magnify the woe 
Of mortal man. Would they were all 
deceased; 

But, still, it might be well to show 
Our universe is wrought with nothing 
base 

Without it serves a purpose in its place. 



52 





and Tan.*& 


An Essay on the June-Bug. 


Now take the June-Bug. How are we to know 
When June is drawing near, 

Without this bug to flutter in our ear 
And bump us BIFF!! upon our forehead, SO!!! 
I tell you it is nature’s way to show 
That June is Here. 



53 




The Chip. 


Freckles 


The Chip. 

O, the chip— 

The chip upon the shoulder 
Of the hero of the hour. 



See him glower, 

See him glare, 

See him scowl with wicked joy 
On the other little boy! 

See the other little boy: 


54 







and Tan.*& 


The Chip. 


What a sad and woeful picture, 

What a picture of depression 
And despair! 

See him stare! 

See him bite his lower lip, 

See ? He hits the chip a clip 
Then and there. 

See the air! 

How it’s filled with legs and language, 
Hats and hair! 

I declare!! 



L, of c. 





Hallowe’en, 


Freckles 


Hallowe’en. 

This is the night when Buzzards buzz, 

And the coo-coo coos—if he ever does— 

And the lizzards lie around and liz, 

And the bobolinks bob, if they’re on to their 
“biz.” 

And the night is literally soused in ink; 

As you silently wait and watch and think, 



Ton silently wait and watch and think. 


And blink and wink. Now take the cud 
Of a brindle cow, and wade in the mud 
Way out in the marsh and dig a hole 
With the shoulder blade of some poor soul 
That died a leper in Lim-Po-Kink. 


56 

















and Tan.«i 


Hallowe’en. 


You bury the cud at half past two, 

Lie flat on your back and take a chew 
Of garlic and glycerine and cloves; 

And close your eyes and wiggle your toes, 
And wish and wish till you’re nearly dead 
Then you wade back home and you crawl 
in bed, 

And you wink and blink and think it o’er: 
Of the leper who died on the far-off shore. 
You taste the garlic, and see the cud, 

And fall to sleep a-wading in mud, 

And your wishes will all come true. 



57 













The Bat and the Owl. 


Freckles 


The Bat and the Owl. 



HAT is the Moon?” 

Said the bat to the owl; 
Your judgment is usually 
right.” 


“The moon?” said the owl, “the moon, 
let me see, 

“Why, the Moon is a hole in the night.” 

“You’re so gay,” said the bat, 

“And so smart, and all that, 

I wish you’d explain to me, 

Why a man ’ll chase after a stranger’s 
hat, 

And chase it in fiendish glee, 

As the wind takes it kiting along the 
street, 

Why is it, sir?” said he. 



58 





and Tan.*& 


The Bat and the Owl. 


The owl with a scowl, in a worried way, 

And a voice exceedingly low, 

Took a gulp at the lump in his throat and said: 
“I’m a son of a Stork if I know.” 



59 














Little Billy Hood. 


^ Freckles 


Little Billy Hood. 

Now my memory turns boyward 
Back, way back to Billy Hood, 

Back where duty used to bind me, 

To the buck saw and the wood; 
Back, when Billy used to call me, 

From his yard across the way, 
“Hoo-oo Hoo-oo, Hi! there, Fat-tee-ee 
Come on over here and play; 

Come on over here to our house 
Bring your sling shot and a club, 
There’s a bull-frog in the cellar 
Sittin’ underneath the tub.” 

Then I’d holler back to Billy, 

“I’d come over if I could, 

But I can’t come just at present 
I must stay and buck the wood.” 

Nearly every day I’d hear him, 

Hear that little Billy Hood 
Call for me to come on over: 

But I had to buck the wood. 

Once I noticed that a carriage 
Stopped in front of Billy’s door. 
From that day, poor little Billy 
Never called me any more. 

Heard his mother say, that maybe 
God would save him, God was good 


60 



and Tan.^ 


Little Billy Hood. 


God could save her little Billy, 

But the doctor never could. 

Then the sorrow fell upon us 
And the mystery and gloom, 

And I fancied that an angel 
In the little darkened room, 
Whispered to me very softly, 

In a voice that seemed to say; 
“Fatty, buck your wood to-morrow, 
Come on over here and play.” 

‘A" "A" VC ic % 

Even now I hear him calling, 

Calling, calling far away; 

Calling from the porch of heaven: 
“Come on over here and play.” 

What an aggravating angel 
Is that little Billy Hood, 

He knows just as well as I do, 

I’d go over if I could; 

He knows just as well as 1 do, 

He must know: It’s understood, 
That I can’t go just at present; 

I must stay and buck the wood. 


61 



Printed by the 
Tribune Printing Company, 
for R. C. Bowman, Author. 

MINNEAPOLIS. 











V 













DTAN 


REVISED 
. Edition. 


ILLUSTRATE 
VERSE BY 

R.C. BOWMAN 








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